The Herb of Love
by TenTenD
Summary: The Seven gods concoct a plan to bring Aegon the Conqueror to the light by putting in his path the savior he hadn't known he needed. More beautiful than Visenya, more courageous than Rhaenys, a better fighter than most men and possessing gods-given intelligence, Rosemaeri is the perfect creation and she is on a mission. A Mary Sue parody.


_A/N: This is the first part of a series in which hapless young women (of the Mary Sue variety) will be thrown into the brutal world of ASoIaF. Watch them struggle to make it out alive (possibly without all their limbs intact)._

_If you have any request as pertaining to the next character to be featured in the series, tell me so in a comment. _

_Enjoy!_

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The Father narrowed his eyes at the figurine the Smith held in his large hand; he could already feel a headache coming. The miniature creature was perhaps the loveliest object fashioned so far in the forge. "You think to set this," he paused, searching for the right word to use, "creation of yours in a realm that is finally close to knowing peace?" His lips thinned in a straight line. "I deny you the right!"

"But Father," the Maiden protested in a light voice, her youthful face beset by disappointment, "I myself have blessed her with innocence of body and mind. She is chaste and virtuous. I doubt her presence might greatly encumber these mortals."

"I have offered her courage," the Warrior boasted, "and knowledge of weaponry far beyond what your creatures have discovered. She is a masterpiece." His bragging earned him a cool glance from the Maiden who was clearly unimpressed. "As if chastity will protect her," the Warrior muttered under his breath.

"Mercy and compassion I have sown in her heart," the Mother said, the babe in her arms stirring at the sound of her voice. "She is a woman like no other; as close as can be to the image of her creators."

The Crone came towards them with her lamp lit. Her gnarled fingers made for the statuette. A spark flew from the tip of one long nail to the middle of a marble forehead. "I give to her wisdom, so none may accuse me of unwillingness."

It was the Smith to say nothing at all, for he had already bestowed upon the inanimate creature secrets of his craft. He simply waited for the Father to come around to their way of thinking. Holding out the puppet, he allowed the other to closely examine her.

Porcelain skin covered what would be a tall frame, but lithe and graceful for all her height. A face reminiscent of the Maiden's looked up at the Father. The sapphire that had been used for her eyes shone in the light, a cold beauty to be sure, but exquisite. She boasted a head of long golden hair, falling down her back in ringlets. The clothing had been made out of the softest silks that the heavenly silkworms could produce and the dress sported bright colours, all warm reds and oranges. The Father handed her back and looked at the Stranger, waiting for his pronouncement.

"I shall never take the gist you bestow upon her," the Stranger finally vowed.

"I see." There was no manner of escaping their plot it seemed. "Very well, then." He took the doll back onto his hands. "May your gits never fail you and may you guide the others with the light of your soul."

Thus having agreed, the gods gave her the breath of life. Elegant limbs fluttered about gently, a steady pulse forming within the creature. Blood rushed through her previously empty veins and white marble pinked under the red influence, yet her skin reminded one of freshly fallen snow still. The perfect woman stood in the palms of her life giver with a look of absolute gratefulness in her enchanting eyes.

It was time to set her free and allow her to roam free through the realm of men. The book of her destiny filled with one prophecy after another. It was to her that the gods had granted the hardest mission of all.

The nameless woman wondered the grassy fields, willing her feet to move forward. She was hungry and thirsty, almost too tired to take another step, yet unable to stop – though she had travelled many days. She had a duty to fulfil. She could not give up. Dust clung to her clothing, dirt smudged her face, but underneath the grime her loveliness shone bright.

A small cottage came in view. The young woman looked around, hoping to encounter another soul to whom she might bare her soul, a person who would listen to her plight, and hopefully offer her some drink and food. To her great luck, a crone stepped outside the earthen construction in threadbare clothing and with a haggard face. The woman hurried towards her general direction.

The crone gave her a suspicious stare. "What have we here?" she asked in a thin voice, eyes shining speculatively. She looked upon the dazzling creature and hid a smile. "Who are you?"

Coming closer, the woman leaned towards the crone. "I have no name," she answered truthfully, "but I am a traveller and I am weary. Might I share your food and fire and repay you on the morrow?"

The old woman seemed to consider the proposal. "Have you any knowledge of herbs of healing?" she asked, hand going to the small wooden gate. She pulled it open and beckoned the other inside. The innocent one nodded her head, knowing that the gods had bestowed the knowledge upon her. "You'll do."

For many moons to come the nameless woman was kept and fed by the crone. She even gained a name all of her own. Rosemaeri the crone took to calling her, claiming that such a plant could only bring good luck to the bearer of its name. The woman on who she bestowed the name agreed wholeheartedly. Rosemaeri was the perfect name for her.

As skills went, it was Rosemaeri who taught the crone more about the plants, using her gods-given knowledge to help not only the old woman but all those in the village on the outskirts of which the healer's cottage had been built. Her manner of leaving was as peaceful as could be when the unthinkable happened.

It was a bitter day that in which Rosemaeri found out the purpose of her presence in the village. She had been picking herbs for the healer to make a broth when out of nowhere one of the village boys ran up to her calling for help. The small boy had tears in his eyes and his face was so red that Rosemaeri wondered if he would not make himself sick.

"We are being attacked!" he managed to get out before Rosemaeri could ask him why he'd come. "The healer says you must take whatever you can and hide yourself."

"I shall not!" Rosemaeri protested. She was not a coward. Picking up her skirts she ran towards the village in hopes of saving some of the villagers who had not yet been slaughtered.

Soldiers swung their swords left and right, tearing through the innocent villagers without mercy. Unable to stand such barbaric behaviour, the young woman picked up a fallen sword and felled one of the enemies where he stood, saving the life of a child in the process. Yet she was not to have an easy time of it as seeing her skill the soldiers trapped her in a circle, dancing around her like hungry vultures. Rosemaeri tried to fight them off to the best of her abilities, but somehow they got the better of her. One of them grabbed her by the long golden plait than ran down her back and pulled her towards him while another made to take her weapon. Her fingers fought to retain their hold over the sword but the men were too many and too strong.

After disarming her, one of them knocked her with the handle of his sword, striking her head so hard that she fainted on the spot. Her limp form was inspected then by the men. They were mesmerised by her loveliness and would not have relinquished her had their commander, Orys, not appeared demanding to know what they had found to be so enthralled over.

Her loveliness struck him at once. Knowing that if he left her with the brutish soldiers she would only be tarnished and beaten, Orys took pity on the woman and took her in his arms. He would care for her and see that she recovered. He could not explain the sudden urge to keep her safe. Glowering at his men, Orys walked away towards the camp, leaning behind the slaughter and rapes still taking place. The only thing that mattered was the well-being of the woman in his arms.

Setting her upon a bed of furs, Orys looked her over for wounds. He determined that the blow to her head was the worst injury sustained. There were some smaller bruises but they would heal well enough on their own. Wetting a clean rag, he placed it on his captive's forehead. She made a small sound of discomfort and his heart ached for her. Why did it suddenly matter that a filthy peasant girl was suffering? Though, to do her justice she was cleaner than most peasant girls and smelled much better. It was some sort of floral scent and something else he did not recognize. He attributed it as her inherent scent, but his mind was already working on her face. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were closed, but her mouth was visible for his inspection, soft-looking lips like two rose petals spread before him. Her golden tresses framed her face, a few wisps having escaped during the skirmish. The rest of her was any man's dream. She was slender but curvy, with the tiniest waist he'd ever seen on a woman. Delicate hands rested on her either side, fingers curling into the animal furs.

Coming to herself, Rosemaeri woke in a strange place. She looked around, trying to determine her exact position, but the only thing she could make out was that she was in a tent. A wave of fear crashed through her, but Rosemaeri would not give in. She raised her chin defiantly to the empty air. "I am not afraid," she said fiercely, making her mind up to escape using whatever means necessary. In fact she would get up right at that moment and march out the tent. Nodding to herself the woman climbed to her feet. Unfortunately she had overlooked the fact that sitting up too suddenly tended to make one dizzy. Rosemaeri lost her footing for a slight second, but it was enough to send her tumbling back onto the furs.

Just then, her plan was laid to rest by the entering of a tall, handsome man. "You are awake." He seemed pleased, but Rosemaeri would not allow herself to be fooled by his smile. She scowled at him. "Don't do that," he spoke softly, trying to soothe her with his tone. "I mean you no harm. In fact, I saved you."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. "How would I know that you are not lying?"

"Does this look like the face of a liar to you?" He stepped closer to her, allowing her to admire his features. Reluctantly, Rosemaeri had to agree that his face did not recommend him a liar. She would have known otherwise.

Relaxing now that she knew her company to be of the honest kind, Rosemaeri blinked up innocently. She wanted to ask where they were and what had happened to the village and its inhabitants, but something prevented her. In her heart she knew there was little hope of any of them still being alive. She could feel it in her bones. In fact, she had dreamt of it; the corpses had all been burned by now, the ash scattered into the four winds.

"Who are you?" she finally gathered the courage to ask. The man must have been waiting for her to speak for he gave her another smile before approaching her, even closer than before. Rosemaeri resisted the urge to pull back. She would not appear a fool before her enemy's eyes.

"Me? I am Orys," he replied simply. "The real question is who you are, fair lady." He sat on the ground, patiently waiting for the information he had requested.

Unable to disappoint someone who had treated her so courteously, Rosemaeri bit her lip in indecision. When she could no longer abide the silence, only then did she speak, "I am called Maeri."


End file.
